Animal I Have Become
by juicyfishtaco
Summary: Set after season 8. Crowley just escaped from the Winchesters and is dealing with the incomplete transformation that took place at the church with Sam and a possible war with Abaddon. He goes between relishing in his demon qualities and looking at himself like the monster that he is. Eventual ofc/Crowley. Rated M for language and later chapters. Will be updated very frequently.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**A/N: This is my first Supernatural fanfiction, so please bear with me.**

**Also please review! I want to know if I should continue or not. Let me know, lovelies.**

Chapter One

As Crowley walked down the street, he stared at the cracked pavement. He finally escaped from those moronic pretty boys, but now his thoughts were left to roam. He still wasn't sure what really happened at that rundown church, but he knew it was going to be a pain in his ass. He put his hands in his pockets and took a left down a dark alley. He wasn't really sure where he was going for the night. He wasn't even sure if he was still king. How long did the Winchesters have him as their little bitch? Hopefully not too long, and hopefully Abaddon didn't acquire too much of the throne in the meantime. The thought sickened him. _Bloody_ _Abaddon_.. What a little cunt. Who does she think she is trying to steal his title? He can take it back with time, but honestly he doesn't even want to put up the fight. Does he even really want to be king anymore? Would he rather be the King of Hell than dead?

Crowley checked his coat pockets and was incredibly thankful he felt the leather wallet in his hand. He figured he should lie low for a few days to keep the boys and Abaddon off his trail while he figured a plan. Unluckily, however, he couldn't use his cards and he was a bit low on cash. It seemed as if this mini-vacation wasn't going to be so lavish.

After he walked a few blocks he came across a small hotel with red neon lights on the sign, half of which were blown out or broken. Unfortunately, it was the only place where he could lay his head that night. There was a bell that rang as he walked through the smudged, glass door and static came from a small, boxy television set.

"I'll be with ya in just a second," someone groaned from the room behind the counter in a voice laced with apathy.

Crowley wasn't known for being patient and typically would've raised a bit of hell for even being spoke to that way, but tonight he wasn't feeling particularly aggressive and just wanted a place to rest, so he kept quiet and picked up a newspaper from the stained counter. His eyes widened as he read the date on the front page.

"Fucking hell... How did those bloody twats keep me locked away for three months?" He said hardly over a whisper but there was clearly rage pouring out with his words. Just as he was beginning to get frustrated with his waiting, a man came out from the room and stationed himself behind the counter. Crowley grimaced at the man's appearance and felt a bit offended that someone could find this stature as acceptable. There was a clear contrast between them as Crowley, wearing his perfectly tailored black Armani suit and custom Italian leather shoes, silently judged the man in the navy colored shirt speckled with stains and holes.

"What can I do for ya?" The man asked from behind a thick mustache as Crowley narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps a room. Maybe with a bar and little chocolates on the pillows? That would be quite lovely," he said sarcastically as he raised an eyebrow and looked at the peeling yellow wallpaper.

"Well you ain't gonna get that here. But I can get ya a room with a bed and a tv," he coughed into a handkerchief he pulled out of the pocket of his faded denim jeans and then continued, "the cash register is broke right now so I can't take your cash up front. So you're gonna have to pay when ya leave. And I think it'd be in your best interest to do so and not skip out on what ya owe me." The man's eyes moved over to a rifle mounted on the wall and Crowley could barely suppress his laughter. He nodded his head and the man tossed him a key with a tag dangling from it that was marked with a number four.

When he walked through the door to the small room, Crowley was displeased to say the least. The room smelled of must and was very poorly lit. He sighed and snapped his fingers. A bottle of single malt scotch and a crystal glass appeared on the rickety kitchen table. The room was obviously never going to have a feature in Good Housekeeping, and he didn't have to endure his time there sober. He pulled out the metal chair with a screech and sat down. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and closed his eyes as he savored the leathery, oaky taste. He quickly finished his glass and poured another. He stood up, glass in hand, and walked over to the television. He turned the knob and positioned himself at the foot of the bed.

There was an infomercial for a blanket with sleeves, called a Snuggie, and Crowley chuckled as he said, "six more years, friend. Relish in your fortune while you can." It was in that moment that Crowley realized he may have made that specific deal, but who would know if he'd acquire that soul? Abaddon could be sitting at his throne while he slouched on the end of a bed in a cheap motel.

* * *

Crowley rolled off the bed with a disheveled appearance. He passed out the night before after finishing his second bottle of scotch. As a demon, he didn't necessarily require sleep, but after a night of drinking he enjoyed a pleasant slumber. He stumbled to the bathroom as he rubbed his eyes. The sink squeaked in protest when he turned the knob and the first bit of water to pour from the faucet was orange with rust. Crowley cupped his hands and splashed the cold water onto his face, then looked up at the mirror. He hadn't seen his reflection the whole time he had been with the Winchesters. His beard was scraggly, but he quite preferred the facial hair. He decided on a trim rather than a shave then looked into his own eyes through the reflection. He appeared tired and worn. His eyes were hazy and faded compared to the typical piercing walnut color.

He thought back to the night of attempted purification with Sam. Did he actually deserve to be loved like he had said? He'd done so many despicable things with no traces of remorse until now, and what about his earlier demonic days? He was ignorant and chaotic and had slaughtered groups of men, women, and children just for his own amusement. At least in his recent escapades he was doing what was necessary to gain his title, but before it was as if he was born to commit the worst of sins. Like he had said, where would he even start to look for forgiveness? All the things he had done seemed so definite and unable to be pardoned. Crowley broke his gaze with the reflection, skipped over the crystal glass, and decided to take a few long gulps straight from the bottle.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I meant to update sooner, but I got a bit distracted. Those of you who want the story for the M rating, this chapter is leading up to it. Unfortunately for you, it's not in this chapter. But keep reading and I assure you, you'll find what you came for! Thanks for reading and please review!**

Chapter Two

Crowley was pacing through the cramped motel room and feeling a bit stir crazy. He'd been sitting there all day simply drinking scotch and watching basic cable television. He'd been trying to distract himself from the realizations he had earlier in the day, but once again his mind was starting to venture into the parts of his brain he wasn't exactly in the mood to explore. He decided to wash up and walk to a seedy bar that crossed his path on the way to the motel the night before.

The bar wasn't as run down as he originally thought. The air was thick with smoke but the overall appearance wasn't particularly distasteful. There was bluegrass music playing through the speakers of the jukebox that didn't hit his ears very sweetly, but he had no trouble tuning it out. He made his way past the round tables to the bar at the back of the room. He took a seat on a leather stool to the left end of the bar making sure to distance himself from the others at the opposite side.

"What can I get for you tonight, handsome?" the bartender questioned. She was an attractive woman to say the least. Her chestnut hair flowed to her mid-back and she had bangs that slightly hung down in her emerald green eyes. She leaned forward onto the bar and rested her chin on the palms of her hands. Her tan skin glowed in the dim lighting as she flashed Crowley a half smile between glistening, full lips. As he took in her appearance, his stomach churned and her smile made him a bit clammy and his collar suddenly seemed a bit too tight. That was something Crowley didn't normally experience in the presence of a typical human woman and he couldn't help but wonder why she was any different from the other acquaintances he'd made. This is something Crowley had never felt before, and that's when he realized that he never had felt before, well anything besides rage and arousal and perhaps a tinge of satisfaction occasionally. He felt the need to impress her and it was slightly overwhelming to him. Regardless, he tried his best to be charming to the rosy cheeked girl and fight down the urge to mindlessly babble.

"Scotch on the rocks," his eyes narrowed a tad before he continued, "and that'll be all, darling, thank you." She poured his drink and sat it on napkin in front of him. She sauntered to the opposite end of the bar to cater to the other customers. Crowley licked his lips before bringing the glass to his mouth. The scotch wasn't aged nearly as long as his usual, but had a better palate by far than the muck Singer called whiskey. He glanced around the room while he sipped on his drink.

After a few minutes, the drink was gone and he was lazily tracing his middle finger around the edge of the empty glass. Crowley was questioning his new found emotions towards the bartender when he noticed she was once again heading his way. She was wearing a black v-neck t-shirt that complimented her form and dark denim jeans that did the same. He sighed as he watched her move. She then grinned at him causing little dimples to appear in the middle of her cheeks.

She filled his glass as she spoke, "So what's your name?"

He smirked and then said, "Crowley, sweetheart." He picked up the glass from the bar and took a long drink. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she smiled back at him. "What? Do I not get the pleasure of learning your name?" he said through a grin as he began to lightly chuckle.

"Oh, I apologize. I don't remember hearing anyone ask." She teased. "I'm Eleanor. Such a delight to meet you, Crowley." She then retrieved another glass from behind the counter and sat it next to his. She grabbed a bottle of vodka and filled the glass half-way. She raised the glass and flashed a half smile before downing the liquid and filled it once again. She brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and lightly bit her lip. Crowley narrowed his eyes and parted his lips before taking another drink of scotch.

"The pleasure is all mine, love." Crowley said in a voice a little more gravely than usual. He loosened his gray paisley tie and undid the top button on his shirt. They exchanged a few words and smirks before Crowley said, "I ought to be going though. Hopefully I'll see you soon, Eleanor." He grabbed her hand and traced a circle on the back of it before he brought her hand to his mouth and left a light kiss. He flashed a crooked smile as he got out of his seat and began to walk towards the door. He turned to look at her once again before he left.

He listened to his shoes as they hit the concrete and he made his way back to the motel. His head was quite blank at the moment and for once he felt a bit at ease. It was sometimes nice to not have obligations or worries. He took his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together as he exhaled a visible breath into the cold night air. He smirked as he thought of his encounter with Eleanor. She was such a gorgeous girl and she seemed to be a bit interested in him. He knew he picked a fine vessel in the mechanics of at all. It was able to withstand his power and did a surprisingly well job with women as well, although that wasn't originally his intent he didn't mind it. He had a bit of an urge to go back to the bar after close and ravish her right there, but he honestly didn't believe he had the nerve to do things like that anymore. His thoughts were disrupted by an overwhelming feeling that he was being watched. He turned down an alley and heard footsteps behind him. He hoped it wasn't the bloody Winchesters or some unfriendly demons. He mentally prepared for a physical confrontation and spoke before he turned "Ah, I see that you've found me."

"Well it wasn't really that hard, I mean I do have your room key." Crowley chuckled as he recognized Eleanor's voice and then turned to face her. He stuck out his hand to gesture for his key even though he didn't really need it; walls weren't really a barrier for him. She placed the key in his hand and stepped closer. Crowley didn't move except to narrow his eyes at the woman in front of him. He stuck the key in the pocket of his coat and Eleanor inched even closer to him. So close that Crowley felt a bit awkward for a moment but was then interrupted by Eleanor placing her hands on his neck, pulling his face to hers, and aggressively locking her lips to his.


End file.
